It Had To Be You
by NotEnoughTimeOnMyHands
Summary: Carol and Daryl get set up by Merle. But it's not exactly a date.
1. Chapter 1

Just another day in the office. Just another 24 hours. One day closer to her 29th birthday and what has Carol got? Stagnant, stationery, solitude…a divorce under her belt and nothing to show for it.

Yet, that's not true, she thinks as she looks out of her Atlanta office window. She's free. A few years ago, she was a worn down, miserable housewife come slave, and now she's a successful business woman standing on her own two feet.

It's not what she imagined. By now she thought she'd have a family, kids. Maybe the little girl she'd always dreamed about. But she's looked into the mouth of domestic hell and she's come out the other side. That's not nothing!

Carol is interrupted in her thoughts by the door being unceremoniously kicked open. In walks Merle Dixon, her colleague and friend, and he's carrying their lunch. A tradition they started and both look forward to; 'eat what you want Friday!'

"Grub's up, sugar tits," Merle needlessly announces, dumping his offerings on her desk. Carol just rolls her eyes. Long ago, she stopped being offended by his rough and ready terms of affection.

They both dig in, having discussed and settled on the idea of Indian food earlier in the week. Carol has her favourite butter chicken and she moans and groans as she devours it.

"Weekend plans?" Merle manages to say round mouthfuls of sinfully good spicy food.

Carol just shakes her head; unwilling to admit that it'll be another quiet one. Like all the others. She's too nervous to put herself out there. She wants to - she really, really wants to, but it's a little bit 'one bitten, twice shy' and a little bit 'I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.'

"Come out with us tonight" he instructs, inviting her to his regular Friday catch up with his friends. Carol just makes a face, a typical nonverbal meh! "Listen princess, you ain't too good for us. A little something, something could happen," Merle prods.

Carol shakes her head, wiping her lips with the napkin, while Merle continues to gorge on his food.

"Carol, you need to get laid," he says when he finally comes up for air.

Merle hits the nail on the head, again, but Carol's experiences in the past haven't been dazzling; off putting maybe. She's no fool. She knows everybody's body is different. She doesn't expect fireworks and she hasn't had any. She'd describe most of her experiences as perfunctory at best. Never a fire, never desire. She could blame Ed; her cold, overbearing and neglectful ex, but really there has never been anyone special.

What little joy she'd felt had been snuffed out by Ed, his harsh words and harder touch. She thought stories of 'out of body' pleasure and bliss were a myth or beyond her. But as her 29th birthday approaches, she thinks she ought to give it one more good try. What a sad and undemanding pre-thirty bucket list she has. Good sex. That's it. And she'd settle for satisfying or just a little fulfilment, that's all she desires.

"You know what guys are really into Carol?" He asks.

"I swear to god Merle Dixon, if you say something like 'girls who touch themselves' or something else vulgar, I'll hit you with the rest of this naan bread."

"Dirty fucking bitch. I ain't gonna say any shit like that. I was just gonna say a girl with a bit of confidence, someone who takes what they want" Merle responds, silencing Carol. But for laughs he whispers, "scares me how much the broad knows me."

She and Merle joke around a lot and only rarely does he forgo the sass for something meaningful and sincere. He'd done a lot of that when she was going through the divorce. It always gave her pause. A reminder of just how much her friend cares for her.

"Tyreese," Merle prompts, knowing he couldn't go even a fraction as long as her without getting his dick wet. She's going through the dry spell to end all dry spells.

"Mmmmm no," Carol answers after a moment of thought.

"He's my best man. I'd trust him with my life," Merle retorts.

"He's too much. Too big, Merle. I'm just looking to get my feet wet."

"Ok, fuck. Tom from accounting," Merle says, naming the most petite guy he can think of in the whole business.

Carol just snorts out a laugh and throws her dirty napkin at the big idiot.

"My brother, Daryl" Merle says, his voice quieter than before, that sincerity creeping back.

"Oh?"

"My brother can be a bit of an asshole."

"What? Your brother, Merle? No, I can't believe it. Did you inherit all of the Dixon family charm then?"

"You are such a fucking smart ass, lady" Merle replies, chuckling at her. When the atmosphere settles again, Merle continues, "he might be what you need."

"And what's that big guy?" Carol asks, wondering how well he's sussed her out.

"Someone who's not an asshole. Someone you can trust" Merle says quickly, taking her breath away.

"You said he was an asshole" Carol reminds him; amused, intrigued.

"He's the good type."

"There's a good type?"

"Sure there is. There's the type Daryl is and then there's the type that'll leave you with a busted lip. He ain't that type."

"Are you serious? I know I need to put myself out there but..." Carol says, attempting to school her emotions. Merle's already stretching himself and she doesn't want to push him further.

"My brother, he's not great with people. Life ain't been too easy on him. It wouldn't be like no date. But if you're good with awkward, fidgety fucks then you're gonna love his ass. And he's a Dixon - you hit pay dirt lady!" Merle mentally congratulates himself for thinking of this. They'd be perfect. Sweet little mouse Carol and his own damn brother. Why didn't he think of this before?

Carol laughs. She trusts Merle. It could work. They both continue to talk about it. He's mentioned his brother before, but never in detail. She learns about Daryl and she and Merle formulate a plan. Something like, how to fuck Daryl Dixon in 3 easy steps. She can't believe she's agreeing to this, but everything she hears about him she likes. First it's the affection in Merle's voice, his obvious love for his brother, and then it's more. And she wants it.

Carol joins Merle for drinks on Friday. But neither Tyresse nor Tom from accounting get a look in. Over the course of a few hours and fueled by a few tequilas, Carol learns more about Daryl Dixon. He's loyal, hardworking and just the tonic to bold, brash and brutal Ed.

A few hours later they enter Daryl's house using Merle's spare key.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Carol asks him, liquid courage got her this far but faced with reality, she's quick to sober up.

"Yeah," Merle responds, sounding less certain than Carol's ever heard him.

"We can just leave; no harm, no foul." Carol prompts, urged on by the uncertainty she hears in his voice.

"Nah. This is it. You're staying. Remember what I said. My brother can be a bit of an asshole. Try to ride it out and you'll like him just fine," Merle says as he quickly retreats, pulling the door behind him.

"Fuck," Carol says into the silence of the unfamiliar room.

She feels like she's intruding, then she realises she is. It's not exactly breaking and entering because nothing has been broken, but... Oh hell, she thinks as she climbs the stairs.

* * *

Thank you for reading. SMUT warning for next chapter.

I've posted this elsewhere but I first started publishing on FF so wanted to bring it home ;-)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Carol is on edge; tense, teeth clatteringly nervous. About 40 minutes ago Merle used his spare key to access his brother's home. She's stripped off a few non-essential items of clothing and quickly redressed. What am I doing? She thinks. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe she isn't ready! She is ready; she is beyond ready. It's been too long and she's been too cautious. It's what she and Merle talked about. This is what all that talking led to. This room and this crazy, convoluted plan. She agreed to this; she readily agreed. But that doesn't stop the over stimulated butterflies fluttering laps around her insides.

Meet him head on, that was Merle's advice. _Darylina ain't gonna manage no date. He won't sweet talk you at the movies or hold your fucking hand in the park. But if you just tell him what you want, good ole plain and simple, that's the language he speaks_.

Carol hears the front door open, the muted crash as it swings shut. Hi honey, you're home, she thinks with a slightly manic giggle.

She hears the rattle of keys as they land on the side table. Carol is acutely aware of all of his movements, hidden from her and distant but drawing closer. Yet somehow, it is the tired, soft masculine groan he emits, as he climbs the stairs and moves toward the door that centres her; that pulls her back, that pulls her in. God she wants this.

Daryl senses something wrong when he walks in the door; his hunter's nose smells it. But his gut tells him it ain't no problem. Whatever the fuck it is smells too damn delicate to do him any harm. Sleepily he makes his way up the stairs and pushes the door open. He stops in his tracks, his looks darkening before he breaks his sullen sleepy silence, "Who the fuck are you?" he barks.

"I'm ... I'm Carol. I work with your brother?" She stumbles over her words. Fuck! Bad idea! This whole thing is nothing but a bad idea!

"Work with him?" Daryl asks, his quiet tone hard and demanding. Carol is briefly dumb struck. Merle had warned her that he could be short, but _Jesus_.

"You work with him or for him?" he demands, but still she is silent. "You one a them prostitutes he sees?" He knows she's not. He knows by the way she's dressed, how she looks, that fucking deliciously delicate smell he detected before he even mounted the stairs. She's not that sort of woman. Yet here she is. He can't get his bearings. He feels lost. That hasn't happened in a long time and he's flailing a little, trying to find his feet.

He looks so mad. Carol can barely see his eyes, hidden behind his shaggy curtain of hair but she can see enough. He's squinting at her; almost sneering. This was a bad idea, she thinks as she stands and tip toes as lightly as she can towards the door.

"I'm sorry," she all but whispers. "I just... Well...l," she says as she tries to slip right past him, almost at the door.

Well, fuck. She sounds about as nervous as he feels. And he likes the look of her; the pink tinge to her cheeks, the classy clothes that enhance her subtle curves. Is he really gonna let this woman walk out of his bedroom when she's obviously only here for one thing? Like hell he is.

Daryl twists his body around so that he is behind her and catches the door with his fingers, pushing it before she can escape. Even when she's trapped behind the now closed door he continues, until he has her pinned, facing away from him, between his hard body and the wood. His hands come to rest; one on the flat surface of the door and one on her hip. Carol stiffens, her way out blocked. Daryl waits, breathing evenly, waiting for her to relax. He feels and hears it as it starts to happen; her exhale, the drop of her shoulders. His hand tightens on her hip.

"What'd my brother tell you about me?" He growls in her ear, his voice rough like gravel, sending her temperature soaring.

 _Nervous, inexperienced, jittery._ She thinks all those things but she doesn't want to put him off more, "Just your name, Daryl," she said quietly, trying to contain the lust she feels.

God fucking help him but he already likes the sound of his name on her tongue. "What else?" he murmurs, his lips so close to her skin.

"That... That you're a bit sh..shy" she says, beyond breathless.

"Pfft," he responds, chuckling slightly.

"My brother knows shit about me" Daryl says, dismissing her comments as he uses a hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder and away. Then Carol gasps as she feels his teeth graze her neck, the heat from his breath further igniting the fire she feels. He's hardly spoken and hardly touched her, but she's ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.

"My brother thinks I'm some sort a virgin. That why he sent me you? Dumb fuck knows nothing," Daryl tells her.

All Carol can do it nod or shake her head. She's not sure if it's a question or if she's even supposed to respond.

"Did my brother tell you about this?" he murmurs as he pushes his significant erection against her ass. Something about the idea of fucking this stranger is working for him, cause he feels rock hard, beyond ready.

Carol can only pant now. She's ready to tick off good sex from her list and he hasn't begun to undress her. Yet she feels like she got what she came for. The fire in her blood is something she's never experienced. She suddenly understands what all the fuss has been about.

He turns her then, locking eyes and moving one leg between hers. Slowly he leans in; extending the expectation, enhancing her feeling of arousal. Then his lips meet hers and he moves against her. His tongue darts out, touching her lips, retreating and then returning to taste her further. He sucks her bottom lip before kissing her deeply again. His movements are confident, firm and assured. When he pulls back she's dazed, eyes glazed and lips swollen.

"Did he tell you about that?" he asks in a sultry, sex filled voice.

Carol wants to shake her head. Thinking she should express to him how overcome she is, how ill prepared. But she just continues to stare, wide eyed as he continues to touch her.

His hands move all over her body, slowly, sensually learning each dip and curve. Then deliberately his hands move down her sides, pulling her skirt up, inch by inch. When it's almost bunched at her waist he moves his hand, deliberately brushing her core through her underwear and then he speaks again.

"Did my brother mention how much I'd like to eat your pussy?"

A sound escapes Carol; a meek, desperate and explicit sound. _No... No one mentioned fucking any of this to her. Not ever!_

Daryl's hands keep moving, exploring her body through the fabric of her clothes. He undoes a few buttons on her blouse, pulling it to the side just enough to expose the cup on one side of her bra. With his eyes still locked on her he hooks his forefinger over the top and firmly pulls it down, brushing over her nipple and leaving her whole breast exposed.

His eyes drift down and she sees the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk before his tongue darts out and he licks his lips. _Fuck!_

Then he leans in again, his hand skims up, brushing over her sensitive nipple. With his thumb under her chin and his fingers on her cheek he frames her face, his eyes locking on hers.

"That what you want, darlin'?" he drawls, his voice thick with desire.

Yes, that's what she wants, hell yeah it is. And she can hear in his voice that he wants it too. The knowledge emboldens her. She's not just a meek little mouse. She's come here with one intention, one thing on her mind.

"For starters," she tells him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Her efforts are rewarded, first a shallow exhale and then a return of the deep groan, now almost a growl, that she'd heard when he'd first come home.

He leans in again, kissing her, the desire ramping up a notch, though she never considered that a possibility.

Daryl lifts her, hands firmly on her ass as Carol wraps her legs around him. She can feel his muscles tighten and bunch under his shirt. Years of manual labour, years of hard graft have given him a strong physique and Carol likes how it feels.

He carries her to his bed, lowering her down and following her, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck; small bites and soothing licks causing her eyes to roll back and further tilting her world.

Carol knows what she wants, she's desired him since the first day she and Merle talked. Brotherly love aside, she heard about a man who was thoughtful, hardworking, considerate. Everything she'd never had before, he sounded like the antithesis of Ed and it all sounded like just the tonic.

And now that man is moving down her body, first stopping to lick and suck and then bite her exposed nipple. As he does so, he pulls the rest of her shirt free from her skirt and once it's pushed high and out of the way he releases her nipple and immediately lavishes the same attention on her torso.

Carol can't reach his clothes easily so she does the next best thing and starts on the rest of the buttons of her shirt. When it's free, she opens it and Daryl stops what he's doing, coming back to her mouth, lifting her and relieving her of that item of clothing. Carol remains sitting, again lost in his kiss, as he unfastens her bra and pulls it from her body.

Daryl suddenly pulls back, peeling his t-shirt over his head. He pauses from a moment, sweeping his hair back from his eyes and Carol takes a moment to admire him. She lifts her hand, leaning up and briefly brushing over his still clothed erection, before slowly exploring his torso until she reaches his chest.

Carol isn't the first woman he's been with. Though he'd never admit anything so bold, he's lost count, or at the very least he hasn't kept count. She's not even his first one night stand, if that's what this is. Yet he watches her, his eyes searching hers, studying her face as her hands explore his body.

Before he can over think it any more he leans back down, kissing her again and again as she grasps at him, as he runs his hands over her body, into her hair.

Neither is sure how much time passes when Carol decides more is required. She tugs at his belt and it's enough to focus Daryl. He stands, quickly capturing her wrist and pulling her with him. She gasps at the unexpected gesture and he chuckles quietly as he drops his head to nip and suck along her neck. His hands find the zip of her skirt and he slowly pulls it down, just as Carol finally loosens his clothing and slips her hand in to his pants and around his dick.

The sensation has his hands tightening on her body, gripping her hips and stilling his movement with her skirt. Then his deep groan is back and she smiles. He feels the movement against him, the upturn on her lips and he likes how she reacts, how she responds to the things he's doing, the touches and the sounds.

When more conscious thought returns Daryl goes back to the job at hand, he slides her skirt over her hips and then lets it drop to the floor. He realises she's almost naked and decided to more than even the score by swiftly pushing his own pants and underwear off, while Carol still remains focused on his rock hard dick. He lifts her again; brings her high and leans down to deposit her on the bed while he steps out of his clothes.

With Carol on the bed, he takes a moment to himself; he leans back slightly, his hands but not his body on the bed. He lets his eyes wander, and Carol is lust filled enough that she doesn't try to hide. Daryl then dips again, first to her breasts and then to her abdomen, clearly setting a path.

His tongue is hot as it trails down below her belly button, reaching the top of her underwear. He slips one hand behind her, lifting her ass slightly before slipping them lower. Much like he did before with her bra, Daryl hooks a finger of the other hand over the top and pulls down. If she hadn't come so prepared, it might not be enough, but Carol has on the most sinfully delicate lace panties and they move as Daryl's hands instruct.

He slowly follows them down, only pausing when his mouth meets her core, one hand squeezing her ass while the other continues to divest her of this now unnecessary item of clothing. When she's free, he quickly draws his hand back up, gently pushing her thigh to open her up and turning the initial exploration into something much more.

Carol's eyes roll back, her head lolling to the side. This is a moment she never expected to experience, she finds all rational thought has left her. Daryl licks, first with the tip and then the flat of his tongue. It slips from her clitoris into her folds, tasting her and then he slowly licks back up.

Once the initial shock has dissipated, he increases his momentum, starting to suck as well as lick. He enjoys her taste and indulges, sinking his tongue in deep. He hears her panting, the sound growing faster and shallower. Carol fingers grasp, desperate for something to help her remain grounded, one hand finding his hair before finally fisting in his sheets. Over the next few minutes it becomes apparent that she isn't getting there. He's not finished, not by a long stretch, but she seems less frantic, not more.

Daryl slows his movement, lifting his head until he is once again licking delicately at her clit. He is looking at her, curiosity playing in his feature. Carol lifts her head and looks down at him. She sees something thoughtful and understanding in his eyes. It has Carol blushing. "Sorry," she mumbles, unable to explain her body's reluctance despite his obvious skills.

"Shhh" is all he says, not interested in apologies and more motivated to get her where she needs to go.

He wants to put his dick it her, God does he want to. He wants to find that sweet spot that will have her breaking apart; letting go of the doubt she's evidently holding onto. But he wants her to find that moment first from his lips, his tongue, his mouth; as it licks and sucks and eats her to that oblivion.

God help him but he's enjoying her. He wouldn't want to finish without getting her off, but something about her easy acceptance of her apparent inability makes it matter more to him. _'Come on baby,'_ he thinks.

He knows he's good at this; he's gotten good at so many things through experience. And he applies that skill now, his elbow nudging one leg further up, before he uses his thumb to dip into her slit, just above his mouth. He applies the smallest amount of pressure and slides it up, pulling back on the hood of her clit and following it immediately with the warm, wetness of his mouth and tongue.

Her body jolts at the shock of the unfamiliar intensity. A few times she's had someone paw her down there, mindlessly fumble, underestimating the sensitivity. Nothing, no, nothing like this.

She'd gone there seeking release, wanting sex and thinking his limited experience and hesitancy would suit her needs. But what she is getting is a master class; he knows what he is doing and he's doing it all to her. It was more than she expected and God help her but she wants more still.

And then Daryl gives it to her. His mouth remains focused on her clit, the licking intensifying as he gently sucks her into his mouth. And finally he pushes a finger inside, slowly but purposefully reaching in and finding the spot that, combined with everything else he's doing, it sends her into the most sensual and exhilarating orgasm.

Carol tightens and pulses beyond anything she's ever known, with a partner or alone. Daryl continues with his ministrations, maintaining the intensity for as long as he can. He likes how she sounds, how it feels to hold her down as she arches off the bed in response to his actions. He wants it again, he wants to see it happen and he wants to feel it happen from the inside.

Daryl slides up her body once she's felt the final wave, once she settles and her breathing becomes more even. He kisses as he goes, liking the new warmth that radiates, as her skin begins to glow. Carol doesn't speak when he makes eye contact, she just arches slightly, breathing deep and briefly closing her eyes.

Daryl smirks again but this time it's one of satisfaction. He's glad she's not verbal, sated enough to be wordless and for even a few brief moments, boneless. But then she draws herself back and reaches for him again.

"More," is all she says, but he knows what she wants. He wants it too.

Daryl reaches over to the small table beside his bed. In the drawer he keeps a few condoms. He's never brought anyone back here, most of his hook ups have happened on the road. But he's learned to be prepared. He doesn't want lack of protection to be the thing that stops him from getting off.

He rolls the condom on. As he settles over her, he has the inexplicable compulsion to stare at her, to let his eyes meet her eyes, to watch. This isn't something he's had before, someone in his bed. It's not something he wanted or needed, but suddenly he needs that connection. Carol stares back, wide eyed, pupils blown as his engorged dick finally pushed inside her.

The aftershocks of her orgasm are still evident, tightening what already seems like a good fit. Carol arches her back and he fists the pillow beside her head as he sinks in, stretching her and groaning as he finally hits home.

Daryl pauses once he gets there. He's in no rush, wants to feel each flutter, each tightening of the aftermath of her orgasm before he attempts to bring her there once more. He slides one hand over the sheet and up her arm, linking his fingers through hers before he tilts his hips in his first deep thrust. Carol cries out, her body responding to the size and sensation of him, while her mind struggles with the intensity of his focus. He waits until she's back with him, eyes on his before he does it again. Only this time he doesn't stop; deep hard thrust, after deep hard thrust he takes her, releasing her hand to touch her body, to cup her face as he leans in to kiss her again and again.

Carol isn't content to just lie there. Slowly she begins to respond, moving her body to meet his; increasing the intensity to match the depth of their shared desire. She explores for herself, touching and licking anywhere she can reasonably reach. When she can, she pushes on him and he quickly gets the message, rolling until she's on top. She too maintains the pace, sitting back and taking as much of him as she can. Daryl guides her hips, touches her breasts, and grabs at the headboard while she fucks him as hard as he fucked her.

It's the tilt of her body that finds the spot he'd thought of and touched earlier. The one he so wanted his dick to reach. It has her rhythm faltering but Daryl sits up slightly, his arm circling her waist and helps her to maintain. She's breathless, completely unsure if she can keep it up. But she needn't have worried. Daryl rolls them again, keeping his arm around her, maintaining the angle. He drives into her with more speed than before as he chases her orgasm and seeks his own. Her climax begins to build as his own rhythm begins to break. The thought of his undoing is the factor that finally pushes Carol beyond what she thought was her body's limitation. She screams in response to everything she's feeling, to everything he's done and he pushes on, growling his own release in the midst of hers.

It doesn't feel like he collapses, it feels like he envelops her. The other hand slips around her shoulders, bringing their already joined bodies closer. He leans to the side, tipping his weight on to the mattress while keeping them close.

Neither of them speak, not for a long time. Not while they've got their eyes closed, while they rest and recuperate from the intense experience they just had. They don't speak when Daryl gets up to get them some water, or when his casual touch evolves into a sensual caress. And they are wordless when those touches give way to round two.

It's then that he does start to speak. There are gentle words of encouragement, a "fuck yeah," when Carol takes him inside again, a "that's it baby," when she rides him. A growl that's more like a roar when she bends over, showing him her ass, arching her back until he pushes in from behind. There are other words too. Gentle endearments he utters right in her ear or against her lips. 'She's beautiful; how did he get to be so lucky? She's amazing, just perfect.' Fucking Daryl Dixon is a multi-sensory experience.

They fall asleep once they're satisfied again. The way he holds her close is the answer to her exhausted vulnerability. Daryl covers them both and runs his fingers lightly through her hair before using his thumb to caress her cheek, then her lips. He then settles into his own much needed slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Daryl wakes first; he's behind her and just as much wrapped around her as he was last night when they went to sleep. He has one arm under her head and one around her waist, pulling her flush. Even in sleep he wants to be buried deep inside her.

He can tell she's waking and her movements and soft groans are doing nothing for his situation. He waits, his hands not roaming, until the moment he knows she's awake. Her mindless movements give way to a deliberate arch of her back, bringing her ass as close as it can be to his dick. When that happens he wastes no time, reaching for the condom, rolling it on and sliding in before either has even uttered a, 'good morning.'

When conscious thought returns, Daryl notes how sticky he is, in need of a shower, coffee and food. He's not done with Carol, but he doesn't want to scare her off with his sweat and odour. He finally gets up, picking up clothes from the floor and searches his closet for something clean. He's shy again, physically naked, but it's his actions and words that leave him bare. What he said and everything he did was true; to how he felt and what he was experiencing. Countless miles beyond anything he's ever felt or said before. He wants to say something about this to her; to articulate the way he feels, to say directly what he wants. Yet that's not him. It felt like him last night and maybe one day it will be him. That day is not today. Instead he begins to retreat to the bathroom, hoping his actions last night and this morning will speak for him.

Carol watches him, still resting in his bed. She thinks that he wants her but she needs something more concrete, "so," Carol begins as he's about to step out of the room. She sounds bashful when there is no need, when really they are so far past the need for modesty that they can't even call it an old friend. "Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"

"Sure," Daryl stops and responds, he means to sound sincere but his own nerves leave the tone slightly noncommittal. He's not used to this, the follow up, a second date. Actually, a first date but who's counting? He's not used to wanting it either. "But I'm going outta town for a bit for work."

"Ok, yeah." Carol says, thinking it's the brush off and feeling suddenly awkward as sin. Daryl inclines his head, indicating the room behind him. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower. Water will still be hot if you wanna after," he offers, hoping she will still be there after.

Carol smiles at him as he steps in the room and pushes the door over. She needs a shower, to freshen up. She smells like sex. After so long it's unfamiliar but given the experience she had it's not unwelcome. She doesn't want to scrub his scent away. She just wants to feel fresh. But what she wants first is to get out of there.

 _'I'm going out of town'_ in the bright light of the morning sounds mighty like how _'I'll call you'_ would after a bad first date. She dives out of bed, gathering her clothes. She's like the poster child for 'more haste, less speed' as she tries to quickly dress. When she's done, the shower is still running so she gathers her shoes and bag and hurries out the room, down the stairs and out the front door. Running feels like a cliché, one she's not sure if she's glad or sad to be experiencing.

Carol doesn't want to say that she got what she came for because clearly she got a lot more. She felt a deep connection, it surprised the hell out of her and fulfilled all of her fantasies. But she can take a hint so she does the walk of shame, in last night's clothes, all the way home. Except for one thing. She's not ashamed and she's not sorry.

On Monday Carol is at her desk intermittently working and daydreaming about Daryl Dixon, just as she's done all weekend. An experience like that is not something you forget quickly, and she doesn't want to. However, it's still so fresh in her mind that she's having a little trouble focusing in anything else.

In the afternoon her door swings open and Merle walks in, collapsing with exaggerated exhaustion in a chair across the desk from Carol. For the first time that day, she feels the need to focus unwaveringly on her computer screen.

Merle snorts at her, he's always laughing at what a nerd she is. Then he gets fed up and tries her least favourite nickname, "come on mousey!" Still she says nothing.

"Sooooooo?" Merle questions, drawing out the sound. When she doesn't immediately respond he just stares, his eyes narrowing, bemused and intrigued.

"So," Carol responds after a few more seconds. Her face is already heating, despite her effort to appear like she doesn't know what Merle is referring to.

"Don't _'so'_ me, missy. I pimped you out to my baby brother, so tell me all about how he fucked you good and proper. Jesus, that sounds perverted, even for me. Did Daryl know what he was doing? Start talking, Carol."

Carol doesn't say anything and she doesn't have to. Memories of Daryl that have plagued her, in the best possible way, begin to assault her again. The heat from his mouth, the feel of his fingers squeezing and pulling her nipples, the stretch as his dick finally pushed into her post orgasmic, pulsating cunt.

Heat blooms in her chest and a blush spreads its way from her centre, up her neck and onto her face, just as her eyes widen at the memory. She doesn't want to speak, knowing how it will sound; wonton and lustful.

"That fucking good, eh? Fuck yeah little brother, Dixon by name, Dixon by nature!" Merle laughs watching Carol's face flush further and her eyes sparkle. He doesn't ask if they plan to see each other again because the deed is done. Carol went and evidently got what she wanted. Coming and going is kinda Merle's life motto. He can't imagine that for both his brother and Carol it seemed like more.

A few weeks pass and Merle again invites Carol out on Friday with some others from their work. He's surprised when she easily accepts but Carol is ready to be distracted. Memories of that night with Daryl haven't dulled any and neither has her desire for him.

She runs home after work to change and then walks in to the bar to the sound of Merle's rambunctious voice holding court at their table. He sees her when she enters, standing to greet her and indicating a seat has been saved for her, opposite his own.

In a moment he's passing her a drink and filling her in on the story he was just recounting to the group and before long she's laughing along with them and being drawn into different conversations with her colleagues.

Hours later Carol is talking shop with Scott, who has a similarly senior post in the acquisitions department of their firm. They know each other vaguely and he seems like a nice guy. She's not interested in dating him, not yet anyway, but talk of work gives them common ground and he has enough to say that Carol and he keep chatting exclusively until he gets up to go to the bar.

From across the table Merle says, "my poor god damn brother," unable to hold in a little chuckle at himself. Merle Dixon, the redneck Cupid.

"What?" Carol says, surprised by Merle's chosen topic. She's thought about Daryl regularly (if regularly means constantly) but after the first time they discussed what happened, and Merle expressed his brotherly pride, they've never revisited the topic.

"Poor guy goes out of town for a couple of weeks and you try to hook up with someone else, first chance you get," Merle says as if to explain. He's messing with her, that's what he does. But he also wants to see what she'll say. Will she be surprised? As surprised as he was to have Daryl call him out of the blue this afternoon. He didn't ask directly about Carol, but Merle is no idiot.

"What?" Carol says a little more forcefully, surprise lifting her tone.

"Double dipping, that shit ain't my thing. But my brother's a sap. I felt sure he'd wanna see your ass again." Merle tells her.

"What?" Carol says again.

"You keep saying that, Mouse. What you needing clarification on?" Merle says reaching for his drink.

"Your brother was out of town?" Carol asks him, her tone higher still and just as surprised as Merle thought she'd be.

"Yeah. His ass travels all over. Conventions or some shit. In the bike world, my brother's kinda a big deal, I done told you that the first time we talked about him," he says with a shrug that belies his interest.

"You told me he was successful, Merle but not that he travelled. Not once did you say he travelled. I would have remembered that," she said, stressing the last sentence.

"Ain't no big deal," Merle says but he isn't looking at her. His eyes are diverted, looking past her, towards the door. Carol studies his face. He's not concerned. It's a rare expression, amusement maybe.

"It kinda is Merle. I've been a bit of an idiot," she tells him.

"No sugar. You've both been fucking idiots" Merle says smirking at the confusion on her face. "Daryl," is all he says in response, the nod of his head indicating that she should look around.

Carol turns, looking over her shoulder and sure enough she sees him. She stands and barely manages to turn her body when he's on her. She's lifted into his arms, his lips locking with hers. Despite the surprise, she responds. She doesn't know if she sensed him or if she knew his scent before her eyes even register, but she is just as ready as he is.

Nothing registers for a few moments. Not the initial hush and then the hoots from the other patrons of the bar. Not Merle's slightly pleased but equal parts disgusted, "get a fucking room."

Nothing registers until they stop kissing and Daryl murmurs, "hi darlin'," against her lips. Carol just smirks, knowing it's enough. Her eyes tell him how pleased she is, how happy she feels to be back in his arms. And his eyes tell a similar story, his arms tight around her, worried to let her go again. Then he does, immediately taking her hand and beginning to lead them both away.

"Thanks for hooking me up, Merle!" Daryl tosses the words over his shoulder as Carol laughs.

There may be no need, but Merle can't help but feel a little pleased with himself.


End file.
